Fixation
by Sara Winters
Summary: Albus had always been drawn to all kinds of damage. Like calls to like, right? This time, though, there might be interesting consequences. An Albus Dumbledore/Tom Riddle, Jr. story.
1. Getting Started

_Author's Note: Reading this story may cause severe mental scarring. As a matter of fact, it probably will. You're welcome? If you're looking to read something a bit more serious along the same vein, see Unrequited._

* * *

_August 1938_

It isn't his fault. It was obvious the kid was looking for trouble from the first. Had been at or near the center of it all his life if the stories from the drunk woman could be believed. Yet, even that knowledge couldn't make Albus Dumbledore feel better about what he wanted to do. What he'd done before and probably would again. This time, though, there might be interesting consequences. The kind that probably wouldn't end with just a quick Obliviation and visit to St. Mungo's for that strange burning sensation.

Regardless of where his wholly inappropriate thoughts were taking him, it was far too soon to start thinking of the consequences. The boy had known he was a wizard for approximately five minutes and already Albus could see the wheels turning in his head. And, damn him, it was pretty interesting to eavesdrop on the flow of thoughts through the eleven-year-old's mind. Especially when he brazenly wondered what the professor was wearing beneath his plum velvet suit.

Nothing. Nothing under the suit and nothing could make Dumbledore act on his natural instincts when the boy was giving him _that look_ far before he was ready to put actions behind his thoughts. Though if he wasn't careful where he was directing that stare—

"How do I get on the platform?" Tom asked, interrupting Dumbledore's thoughts. He answered the boy's question, gave him money for school supplies, directions to Diagon Alley and a few other instructions before taking his leave. And not a moment too soon.

It was rare to find a child who took such an immediate interest in someone older—especially a child of that age and an adult of his—but Albus put it down to the child's fascination with the world he had just become a part of. His own considerable charm was a part of the equation, but that wasn't something he could reign in. He would just have to wait. See if the child's quick and dirty thoughts turned into something he could work with.

Or if he'd have to get his head examined along with everything else on his next doctor's visit. Now that he thought of it, that might be a good idea anyway. What had possessed him to pull out _this_ suit in the middle of August? Magic had made a number of innovations in medicine, but a permanent cure for chafing hadn't made any inventor's list of priorities yet. He would take care of it soon. Albus smiled back at the dark-haired man watching him walk from across the street. Or _he_ would take care of it.

* * *

_December 1938_

This was ridiculous. It had taken Albus three requests—yes, _requests_—to get Riddle into his office for a friendly little chat. Why? Because the little monster had become so popular there was practically a line of worshippers starting at the doorway of his dorm room. Even Headmaster Dippet took a private lunch with the child twice a week. And Tom was reveling in it. Riddle's thoughts of just what he could command his new minions to do had made the Transfiguration professor blush. He hadn't been that bold until he was at least fourteen; even then it had taken half a bottle of Old Ogden's spiked with Euphoria Elixir to keep him from chickening out.

But finally, he'd earned an audience with the new rising star of Slytherin. _Much good as it would do_, Albus thought as he took in the sneering preteen sitting in his guest chair. Though it was tempting, he resisted the urge to probe the child's mind to find out why he was especially cocky today—there was only so much shock a man his age could take in one day. Finding out what Dolohov was thinking about when he snuck off to the bathroom during class was enough trauma for one day. He had no wish for young Riddle to add to it.

"Did you want me for something?" Tom asked, his voice silky.

Albus nearly choked. The way he'd asked that begged to be answered in the same smarmy, obnoxious way, but getting fired was also not on Dumbledore's agenda for the day. What was then? Why had he decided to put himself through the torture of attempting to befriend another of the little snot-nosed Slytherin brats when his attempts to get to them early hadn't been entirely successful in the past?

_Gellert_, his traitorous mind supplied. He forced the thought away. Not everyone had the potential to turn perfectly good ideas into a plot to control Muggles as easily as one would charm a teapot. Not everyone found the idea of using excessive means for control not only necessary, but a mild turn-on. And not everyone had the nerve to look at Albus Dumbledore like he had his number, was squeezing it in his fist and would use it against him in a way he wasn't entirely sure he would hate.

_It was the attitude, wasn't it? _Dumbledore thought as he sat behind his desk. It certainly wasn't the boy himself. He was entirely too young—Azkaban was not a place for one of the most brilliant wizards Hogwarts had ever seen—far too sure of himself, and just a bit too…something. Something about the boy was off. Maybe that was it, then. Albus had always been drawn to all kinds of damage. Like calls to like, right? That would explain his "friendships" with Elphias Doge, Pollux Black and that one weekend with Cornelius Fudge that had left the men unable to look each other in the eyes for a few months. If Albus wasn't mistaken, Fudge was still in denial that anything had happened.

"I just wanted to see how you were getting on," Dumbledore said. He eyed the boy over his half-moon glasses. With barely an effort, the words "banana" and "swallow" flashed through his brain from Riddle's thoughts. He closed the connection quickly. Albus shifted uncomfortably and began to blush before he realized the boy may merely be hungry. From his expression, it was hard to tell exactly what for.

"I'm fine." Riddle shrugged. "I have yet to find someone who doesn't like me once they come to know me. I've gotten to know quite a few people. Much better than I thought I would given the time I've been here." Tom finished his statement with a small smile and Albus shifted again.

It was official. This was all in his own dirty old man mind. _I really ought to get out this weekend. Or tonight_, Albus thought. If his Wednesday afternoon thoughts were this bad, he wouldn't make it through walking his Six Year students through transfiguring thick wooden stakes into brass door knobs if all he could think about was knob polishing as he stood in the front of the classroom.

"Have you pulled anything out recently?" Albus blinked hard at the question. "Records that might have information about my parents?" Tom elaborated. He shrugged again. "I know we didn't discuss it, but when we met I got the impression you were just as curious as I was."

"I confess, I was and still am a bit curious about your parentage, but it never occurred to me to conduct a search of the school's records," Albus said. "We are only notified when a child of magical birth is slated to attend the school. Very little information is passed on to us about the parents, save for an address if the child is Muggle-born and a school official has to visit."

"So, you have my father's address?"

"I may have gotten an owl from the Ministry when you were born," Dumbledore answered. He gestured around the room at the large number of shelves filled with books and notebooks full of documents. "It may take me a little while to find the information, if it is even still accurate. I would think your caretaker at the orphanage had done everything she could to see that you had no other relatives before keeping you."

At that statement, Tom's thoughts turned so dark Dumbledore began to reach for the bottle of firewhiskey in the top drawer of his desk before he remembered himself. _Not in the middle of the day again._ Then he reminded himself not to read the child's thoughts without provocation and focused instead on the dark gaze boring into his. As unsettling as ever.

"I am sure she did what she felt was best," Tom said shortly. "I would just like to know if I…"

'If you're Pureblood like the rest of your house," Dumbledore filled in. The child nodded. "You know your blood status bears about as much importance as the cost of your robes."

This was met with an icy stare.

Dumbledore frowned. "I just meant that neither mean very much if you don't have the brain power or ability to make yourself stand out."

"Perhaps you're right," Tom said. He stood from the guest chair and stretched. "I seem to have made an impression on a number of people and I've just gotten started." He began walking towards the door and stopped, glancing at the professor over his shoulder. "I know we haven't spoken outside of class much, but I do hope you'll let me come to you if I need anything."

Dumbledore nodded, but said nothing. His mouth had gone dry and his thoughts had gone into the trash bin again, against his now shaky will. Flashing one last small smile, Riddle escaped the Transfiguration professor's office, leaving him to his thoughts. Albus quickly locked the door. With these kinds of thoughts, it was probably for the best.


	2. Private Time

_April 1939_

Troubling thoughts not withstanding, Dumbledore was intrigued when the Slytherin requested a private meeting a few months later. Tom had hardly allowed himself to be caught alone in conversation with his professor for months and then suddenly, there he was, asking if he could meet with Dumbledore in his office after the rest of the school had escaped on the Hogwarts Express for Easter break.

This time, Dumbledore was prepared. He'd firmly talked himself out of the temptation of reading the boy's thoughts—he should've known listening to the unfiltered thoughts of a child that age was dangerous from day one. He'd even meditated for a few minutes beforehand, hoping to clear his mind of whatever scandalous things he was going to do once the school was closed for holidays until he could consider the ideas properly.

That all went out the window when Tom showed up at his door wearing denim trousers he'd obviously outgrown and a white cotton shirt that fit in the same obscenely tight manner. Albus decided to spare the child the lecture on walking about the school out of uniform. He'd stopped being "professor" about twenty minutes before the end of his last class and, besides that, the boy didn't look half bad. The way he strutted in the clothes, Albus wouldn't be surprised if such cheap fashion ended up becoming a popular style—even among stodgy, robe-wearing wizards. Especially if they thought they'd turn heads the way Tom surely had done walking through Hogwarts.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Dumbledore asked as Tom closed his office door.

The boy smiled. "Can't I come see my favorite professor without a particular reason?"

Albus smiled back. "I'm sure you can." He gestured towards the fireplace. "Shall we see if Professor Slughorn has left for his vacation?"

"Slughorn?" Tom fell into the guest chair and gave a dramatic sigh. "I have the feeling if I didn't say yes to one of his dinner invitations every once in a while, he'd show up at my dorm with a plate of food and candles."

At this, Albus began to laugh so hard he snorted and had to resort to covering up his mouth until he calmed down. The scary thing was, Tom was probably right about Slughorn. If anyone liked spending a little too much time with his students, it was Horace. Albus didn't have the heart—or the courage—to pick the man's brain to find out why. He figured if there was anything more to it than an old man rambling on about his famous friends, he'd be reported to Headmaster Dippet faster than a case of hippogriff herpes spreading through the Hog's Head's back rooms.

Still, in a building full of hormonal teenagers, there might always be room for a wizard to experience a moment of weakness or three. The trick was to not act on the temptation. Even if the hormonal individual in question was sitting in one's office, smiling like he had a dirty secret to tell. Or that he wanted pulled out.

"I believe Professor Slughorn only pursues the best and brightest," Albus said when he'd regained his composure. "You should be flattered."

It was Tom's turn to snort. He hated himself for it, but Albus found even that small gesture cute. This was going to be a long meeting.

"You never said," Dumbledore began, "why did you wish to see me?"

At the boy's responding smile, a number of thoughts started running through the professor's mind. _Perhaps he needs help with his coursework—no, he's practically teaching several of his classmates, if the rumors are to be believed. Maybe he wants to ask why I tend to stare at him in class. I don't think anyone bought that rubbish about a Nargle infestation. Or perhaps he figured out why I was staring and has come to tell me how horrifying he finds the idea. Or intriguing_, Dumbledore thought, remembering Tom's frequent smiles. _Yes, a young man in need of tutoring of a certain type, but too bashful to ask directly. So he gathers his courage, comes to a professor he knows is more...open-minded and asks for hands-on assistance of a personal variety. _

Dumbledore shook his head to clear out those last thoughts. He really ought to stop reading those Jane Austen novels. If there was ever a witch who had a flare for taking personal relations to the extreme limits of believability, it was the woman who thought Elizabeth Bennett would ever think kindly of a man who'd insulted her family, let alone fall in love with him. _Of all the rubbish ideas of how a relationship should begin_—

Albus straightened what must've been a somewhat perturbed expression—or so he'd been told by Professor Sinistra when he'd tried explaining the conflicts within Pride and Prejudice to her—and attempted to smile at the young man who'd been waiting patiently for his attention while he'd been lost in thought.

"I was wondering if you could tell me about the founders." Tom smiled and Dumbledore noticed a dimple at one corner of his mouth. "Slytherin in particular."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his smile dropping a fraction. "Is there anything in particular you wish to know?"

He leaned forward, his small smile spreading into a wide grin. "Whatever you find most fascinating."

Three hours later, the student may have regretted giving Dumbledore free reign to tell a story. He'd gone over everything from Slytherin's penchant for Dark Magic to his apparent snake fetish—the basis of several unfortunate rumors about the founder and allegedly part of the reason Rowena Ravenclaw had spoken with a pronounced stutter for over a year. Tom had been nearly asleep when the Transfiguration professor said something that caught his attention.

"Of course, you know he was a Parselmouth."

Tom shot up in his chair. Dumbledore's phoenix Fawkes squawked in the corner. "He could talk to snakes as well?"

Albus almost swore. He should've known that would get him interested. Snakes were never a good subject with children. Especially curious boys with dark, mysterious eyes, porcelain skin, a smile that seemed to light—

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "I believe his children also had the ability."

"Is…is that the kind of ability that can only be passed through families?"

The change in Tom's voice caught Dumbledore's attention and he turned his attention fully to the boy. He took note of how the student's breath had caught in anticipation; Tom licked his lips as he waited for Dumbledore's response.

"Uh…I believe that to be the case," he said slowly. Swallowing hard, Albus forced himself to look somewhere besides the boy's lips. He was in dire need of a drink. And something else, but that would have to wait until after he'd left school grounds. "I'm not sure there are many others who can speak Parseltongue these days."

"Who can?" Tom whispered.

"As far as I know, the only families to ever possess the ability have been Pureblood and as there are only so many of those left—"

"Is it possible those who can could all be related to Slytherin?"

Albus wasn't sure, he might have imagined it, but for a second he thought Tom emitted something like a cross between a growl and a purr before leaning further forward and smiling again. _He's too young_, Dumbledore thought. _Even he can't be this bold. Or naïve. He couldn't possibly know what he's doing._

Tom stood from the guest chair and stretched. There was that sound again. Dumbledore shifted in his seat. He really ought to find something a bit more effective for relaxing than meditation. Trying to focus on his innermost happy thoughts and desires was hardly going to relieve his tension from now on.

"A lot of things are possible," Albus said. "How about I look into it and you check back with me later?" _And get out of my office. Now._

If nothing else, the time would give him a chance to find out what was really going in the boy's mind. Later. He was too scared of his own strange thoughts to attempt to read Tom's at that point. It would have to wait for a day when he was more in control of himself. If that day ever came.

"I'd love that. This has been…educational." Tom grinned. "I should spend a lot more time with you. There's no telling what else I could learn."

Albus knew and no, he couldn't tell. Or offer. Or even think about it for more than a few seconds. Not if he didn't want to join Slughorn in the questionable behavior department. Who was he kidding? He was going to. One day. It was only a matter of when.


	3. Punishment

_October 1939_

This was getting dangerous. Annoying as well, but Tom thought he could handle that. Regardless, the way Professor Slughorn had begun to wave him over after every class and ask to be alone to "chat" was making the slow transition from persistent interest to stalking. He'd thought it had been bad his first year when he'd started getting those dinner invitations—before Slughorn had started inviting other students. Now? Now he acted as if they were the best of pals and pouted like a child whose candy had been stolen when Tom didn't want to spend every spare moment with him.

What horrible sin had he committed in life that his Potions professor had fallen in love with him? From what Tom had heard of the affliction, that was what this had to be. Slughorn acted as if he would fall over and die if they didn't spend time together every few days. For his part, Tom didn't mind _that_ idea at all. Not that he'd be so lucky.

"You wanted me, Professor?" Tom tried not to shudder at the responding smile from Slughorn. Secretly, he knew old Horace liked it when he made the occasional slip of the tongue—that knowledge alone made his perfect class scores and excused missing assignments almost worth it—but Tom couldn't help feeling like he was leading his professor down a path (he said) he'd never been down before. Namely, a marked interest in male students.

He wasn't above suspicion in the other direction, though. When Tom had asked about his past relations with female students, a blustering Slughorn had merely pointed out that the members of the Slug Club were all male and he'd promised the Ministry it would stay that way. From the blushing and stuttering that accompanied this assertion, the student stopped wanting to know the reason behind it all. Sometimes, he thought even his curiosity could go too far.

"I have something for you," Slughorn said. He began stroking his thick mustache slowly and leaned back. His desk chair let out a groan of protest. Tom nearly did the same.

"Oh?" he asked. Slughorn smiled. Tom picked up his school bag and planted it on his lap. He didn't think the older wizard could see through robes, but he didn't put it past him to try. "You didn't have to get me anything."

"Oh, but I did," Slughorn said with another smile. "I've felt so badly for you ever since I first heard of your predicament."

"Predicament?"

"Being unable to know your true self." He grinned and leaned forward. "I knew nothing would bring me greater pleasure than helping you find out who you really are." His smile widened as he eyed Tom. "I find that your age is perfect for discovering what one really needs to know about himself to be happy."

_If he's going to ask me to sit on his lap, I won't have a choice but to hex him, will I?_ Tom forced a tight smile onto his face. "What do you think would make me happy?"

Slughorn reached into the top drawer of his desk. "I wrote a few letters and got a former student of mine to do some research for me." He paused.

Tom held his breath, preparing to make his well-practiced "you're _very_ impressive, professor" expression.

Slughorn removed a tightly rolled parchment from his desk. "I have found your father. It took some doing of course," he smiled with fake modesty, "but I knew you could not rest until you had knowledge of your origins." He waved the parchment. "I have here his address and a little information about his family."

Surprising himself, Tom's "impressed" face was genuine for the first time in a while—since the day Dumbledore had told him he was a wizard. "I honestly don't know what to say, professor. Thank you." He leaned forward, his hand outstretched.

"What are you doing Saturday night?" Slughorn held the parchment just out of Tom's reach. "I'm think of having a sleepover."

"Sleepover?"

"Uh…a late dinner. Not sure just how late it will run." He smiled and his grip on the parchment tightened. "A number of students invited, of course. Your friend Mulciber is the next on my list."

_I'll just bet he is_, Tom thought. "I'll think about it." He waited a few seconds and then punctuated this with a smile. Returning it, Slughorn extended his arm a bit more and allowed Tom to take the parchment. The boy sat back in the chair awkwardly, torn between wanting to read the sheet and not wanting to take his eyes off Slughorn, lest the man want to accept his thanks with a hug.

"You know, Tom," Slughorn began, "if you ever need someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on—though I'm sure boys your age will never admit to tears at difficult moments—you can come to me for anyth—"

"I know, professor," Tom interrupted. Slughorn was grinning again. The boy was glad he couldn't tell exactly what the professor was thinking, though he could hazard a guess. It probably wasn't too different from what he assumed others thought when they looked at him, even another professor. At least when Dumbledore reflected on his handsomeness and their unfortunate age difference, he did it reluctantly. Which made it all the more fun to tease the older wizard.

"I have an appointment to speak with Professor Dumbledore," Tom lied. "I'm afraid I'm going to be late." He raised the parchment to his head and used it to give a sloppy salute. "Again, thank you." Without giving Slughorn a chance to respond, Tom turned and escaped from the office, sure he could feel the Potions professor's eyes boring into the back of his robes. _Thank goodness it was only looks this time_, Tom thought. With the way this was progressing, he didn't know how much longer his virtue would stay safe.

* * *

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong," Minerva wailed. She conjured a handkerchief out of the air and swiped at her face, knocking her glasses askew. "No one seems to l-like me. Is it because I'm too s-smart?"

Dumbledore shook his head when the girl looked up at him, tears streaking down both sides of her face.

"I think that's it," she said, sniffling harder. "I went to an all girls school before I came to Hogwarts and no one liked me there except for the teachers. It's the same here," she said, motioning to her Transfiguration professor.

With that gesture, Albus lost the will to tell her the truth: she was starting to wear on his patience as well. He had been fighting the urge to hex the girl out of his office for nearly thirty minutes, stopped only by reminding himself that he'd promised Headmaster Dippet no more violence against students. Though, he really should've been excused after that last incident. Septimus Weasley had met with a "witch of the night" in Hogsmeade and ended up passing a nasty case of Purple Blister Gonorrhea around the castle—a strain that caused lava-like diarrhea, exploding anal warts and brightly colored skin splotches until the disease ran its three month course. All three of the professors who'd been with him had wanted to hex the boy—especially when several other students mysteriously contracted the infection—but Dumbledore had been the only one bold enough to call out the seventh year student.

This, however, was different. He was supposed to be available as a counselor to his students in their times of need. Even annoying thirteen-year-old girls with no chance whatsoever of gaining popularity or having the smallest bit of meaning in their lives outside of Hogwarts. It wouldn't shock Albus if that socially awkward Minerva ended up as a Hogwarts professor herself—especially because the job didn't require social skills of any sort.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Tom Riddle knocked on his door and pushed it open. "I didn't realize you were busy, professor. I can come back."

"No, don't leave!" Dumbledore cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "I'm sorry, Minerva." He turned back to the sniffling girl in his guest chair. "Tom has an appointment." "Appointment" was their code for "get me out of this or I'm going to hurt someone." It had worked well so far, getting the two of them out of meetings with a number of professors and students and allowing them to safely spend a few hours making fun of the crazies surrounding them in the castle.

"Fine." Minerva sniffed and stood from the chair. "I suppose I can come back later."

"I'll be here all night," Tom said. "My apologies. Try Professor Sinistra," he suggested. "I understand her door is always open for pretty girls."

Minerva smiled and Dumbledore had to keep himself from choking on his held back laughter. He never should've told Tom about the Astronomy Professor. Though it would be worth it if it kept the student currently leaving his office crying in someone else's presence.

The moment she pulled the door closed behind herself, Tom fell into the guest chair, his own laughter joining Dumbledore's loud chuckles.

"You really are quite the actor," Albus said.

Tom shrugged. "I've learned that telling people what they want to hear can sometimes get me exactly what I want. I've gotten a lot of practice because I know exactly what I want," he whispered.

"And…what is that?" Dumbledore asked.

"A secret," Tom replied. "More specifically, information about the Chamber of Secrets."

Albus frowned. _Where did he pull that from?_ He reached into his top desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey and a tumbler. He poured himself a generous drink and began to sip it. "I don't know where you're hearing these things, but—"

"You know, keeping secrets is a bad habit," Tom said. "We get punished for it at the orphanage." A small smile titled the corners of his lips. _Perhaps one day I'll punish you_, he thought. Dumbledore choked on his firewhiskey and immediately broke their eye connection.

"I still don't know what you're going on about."

"When I asked you about Slytherin last year, you never mentioned it." Tom frowned. "I thought we were better friends than that."

"I don't feel comfortable telling you such a disturbing story."

"If I get scared, you can hold my hand." Tom smiled before reaching up and loosening his tie. He unzipped his robes and slipped the fabric from his shoulders, wiggling his way out of the clothing until he sat in the guest chair in his slacks and white school shirt. Dumbledore's mouth began to dry out as he watched the boy unbutton the top two buttons of his shirt. He took a swig from his glass only to realize it was empty. He refilled it quickly and emptied it again, his eyes never leaving those of the boy in the chair. Tom was smirking.

_As well he should be_, Dumbledore thought. Sighing, he relaxed in the chair and told him the story of the founders that had led to Salazar Slytherin leaving Hogwarts.

"Thank you," Tom said when he was finished. "You've given me a lot to think about." He bent over then and began picking up his discarded clothing from the floor.

"Wait, you're leaving?" Albus began to curse himself for sounding so needy, but after that first talk, he rarely spent their time together doing most of the talking. He was coming to crave the sound of Tom's voice.

Tom smirked and slid his green tie around his neck. "Don't worry. Now that I know you've got such fantastic stories to tell, I'll be around a lot more often." He stood. "Until every secret you have is mine." Without another word, he picked up his school bag and left.

_Not every secret_, Dumbledore thought. There were some things he knew he could never tell the boy. Not if he wanted to keep his sanity.


	4. Wanted

_November 1940_

There was something seriously wrong here. It had started with those strange looks in the Great Hall during breakfast—Tom had put it down to the extra attention he'd been getting after receiving yet another award for some paper or another. But then…he'd found her staring at him in the courtyard _and_ at dinner. Now, in the library. Tom had known he was asking for trouble making that joke months earlier, but now he knew it for sure. Somehow, through a sick twist of fate, Minerva McGonagall had a crush on him.

All because he'd made the mistake of calling her pretty. She'd probably spent the whole summer and beginning of term obsessing over that one comment—drawing pictures of him on her class notes, thinking about their first kiss, imagining them _together_—the thought of it was enough to make Tom gag.

If anything, this was worse than Slughorn gazing into his eyes during class. If she said something off-color—as if the uptight girl knew anything off-color to say—no one would threaten to put her out of Hogwarts or punish her in some way. Well, Slughorn might, but he wouldn't be able to follow through. If Minerva really put her mind to pursuing him, there'd be little Tom could do about it, short of whining to a professor that she wouldn't leave him alone. Knowing most of them, they'd laugh it off and call it "cute."

Was there anything more horrifying? The sad part was it was all his fault. He'd never done anything without thinking before and this had to be the single worst mistake of his life. Worse than continuing to spend time with Dumbledore long after he'd begun to enjoy it. Worse than not finding excuse after excuse to avoid Slughorn in an effort to spare the man's feelings (and keep himself safe). This was an invitation for something he _did not want_. It wasn't because she wasn't nice enough. She was going out of her way to be nice, had been for weeks. He supposed other blokes found her attractive, until she started harping on about homework or some such thing. It was that she…she…was a _she_.

That was the plain truth of it. Tom could deny it in his mind until he almost had himself convinced, but he had yet to be interested in a girl as anything but a source of information and, relying on the rest of the Hogwarts as a guide, he was long past the time in his life when girls should be something more than a giggling, touchy feely, perfumed annoyance. But they all were. Minerva most of all. And she wouldn't leave him alone. Tom faked a smile as Minerva made her way across the library, grinning at him over the stack of books in her arms. _Why can't we use Befuddlement Charms on each other again?

* * *

_

_It can't be too bad if all he can think to use is a Befuddlement Charm_, Dumbledore thought as he observed the pair from across the library. Even with Minerva putting her hand under the table and running it over Tom's knee, the boy wasn't panicking nearly as much as the professor might have expected. As he might have done himself if a girl had ever dared get close to him in that way. Of course, his flame had always burned a little too bright for girls to even want to get close. They'd known better. Tom hadn't gotten to that state, if he ever would.

For now, the boy was just lucky he was only fighting off one girl. With his looks, he was lucky half of Hufflepuff and a third of Gryffindor weren't sending him love notes and spiking his drinks with love potion. _Which reminds me_, Dumbledore thought. _I do need to check that Horace is stocked up on antidotes before we hang the mistletoe around the school_. It wouldn't do to have a repeat of the events five years previous—a love potion slipped into the school supply of pumpkin juice resulting in two sixth year students practically suffocated in the Great Hall under a pile of the rest of the students—and a number of professors. Of course, now the house-elves knew better when a student said he wanted to "help" them prepare the evening meal.

He knew he was going to be late for the staff meeting, but when he saw Minerva attach herself to Tom's side, and the boy's resulting wide-eyed look of revulsion, Dumbledore couldn't resist sitting down at a table in the library out of sight and listening in on what promised to be an interesting conversation.

* * *

"I'm glad I found you here," Minerva said.

"Why?" Tom asked. "Were you looking for me?"

Minerva scooted her chair closer and lifted her hand to stroke Tom's arm beneath his robes. "I just wanted to catch up…ooh, have you been lifting weights?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "No."

"So." Minerva moved her hand beneath the table and began rubbing Tom's knee. "Is it hard?" she whispered.

"Excuse me?" His voice was a squeak, but he knew she'd understood when she giggled and slid her hand up further.

"Being so…perfect," she stated. She hummed for a few seconds and slid her hand to the middle of his thigh before moving it back towards his knee. "Your grades are the highest in your year and the professors are always talking about how wonderful you are to have in class." She removed her hand from his leg and snaked it around his stomach, clinging to him like troll warts on an itchy bum. She settled her mouth next to his ear. "There are a number of girls who want to know if you're wonderful to have."

"I…please stop," he whispered in a shaking voice. Tom coughed, hoping to force air through his tightening windpipe.

"Please what?" Minerva lifted a hand to tousle Tom's hair. "I couldn't hear you over the pounding of your heart." She leaned forward and smiled at him. "Does it always beat so fast?" Her hand drifted back to his thigh and slowly began sliding upward.

"Only when I—hey!" Tom slapped the back of Minerva's hand and jumped out of his chair. The giggling fourth year student tumbled over into his vacant spot. Her dark hair slipped out of the knot at the back of her neck and tumbled down her back in a tangled knot.

"Ooh. Normally I don't like it rough, but I think I could get used to it with you." She grinned and pushed herself into a sitting position.

Tom sighed and glanced around. He was cornered. Nothing behind him but the ends of two shelves filled with books and an expanse of wall. Very little space between the table he'd just left and the shelf behind it. He looked back at Minerva.

She'd pushed her spectacles back onto her nose and began eyeing him as a lion eyes its prey. A smile curved one corner of her mouth. Tom knew she was going to pounce again at any minute. Library or not, he had the sinking feeling she might just get what she wanted because he was too scared at present to try to run past her. Tom wouldn't put it past Minerva to tackle him onto the nearest bookshelf if she thought she could touch him again before he got away. Was this one of those times when the suffering would be worth it in the end?

She stood from the chair and approached him with slow, deliberate steps. "Madam Pince won't be back for a while." Minerva smiled. "What do you think about putting your hands on something besides a dusty old book?"

_No, it would not be worth it. Not by a long shot_, he thought. Taking a deep breath, Tom pulled out his wand. "Stupefy!"

Minerva flew back, arms and legs flailing. She hit her head on the table with a resounding crack before landing in a heap on the floor. He hadn't thought the spell would work. Frankly, he thought he'd gotten lucky trying it for only the second time. Minerva moaned and Tom jumped, jostling a few books on a shelf when he bumped into it. He had to leave before she woke. He ran to the table and gathered his school books, sweeping them into his bag before darting out of the library. He just missed the sounds of soft laughter and snorts coming from behind another bookshelf.

* * *

"Tom, my boy, what are you doing here?" Professor Slughorn looked up in surprise as the third year student pushed his office door closed behind him and turned to lock it. Tom stood shaking for several moments before turning to face his Potions professor, a small smile on his face.

"I just…wanted to say hello," Tom said. He glanced over his shoulder as he said this, as if he expected the door he was leaning on would explode into the room at any minute.

Slughorn raised one eyebrow in question, but smiled at the young boy. "I'm flattered you would honor me with your presence. I haven't seen much of you outside of class lately."

"I apologize for that, sir," Tom said. He pushed away from the wall and moved across the office before settling himself in Slughorn's guest chair. "I've had a lot of work to do and—"

"Funny," Slughorn interrupted. "I've spotted you coming in and out of Dumbledore's office with regularity."

_Spotted?_ Tom thought. _Though their offices were three floors apart and their free class periods were at different times on different days?_ Rather than let his mind wonder just how Slughorn was "spotting" him, Tom again faked a smile. "Professor Dumbledore has been giving me a great deal of tutoring outside of class, much to my benefit."

"Is that all he's been giving you?"

"I'm sorry?" Had he walked from a lion's trap into a snake pit? At least with Minerva, he knew he had the ability to fight her off. Tom eyed the Potions professor. The man had at least seven stone on him and was roughly a foot taller. Tom couldn't be sure a weak Stunning spell would be enough if Slughorn decided today was the day he'd be extra affectionate. After searching for a hiding place for nearly an hour, why had he run into this office of all places?

_Because this is the last place Minerva would look for me, since she __too __knows I practically live in Dumbledore's office. Fantastic_, Tom thought. He had become that predictable to his stalkers. He knew he should've put more effort into learning that Disillusionment Charm. Nearly invisible would be a good way to travel from now on. From the way Slughorn was looking at him, put out or not, he wasn't exactly unhappy with what he was seeing. Tom, unfortunately, could not say the same.

Slughorn sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his burgeoning belly. "I just wonder if there's more going on there than meets the eye."

"I don't know what you could possibly mean," Tom responded. _Slughorn's blocking the only window. If I have to escape, will it take too long to unlock the door?_

"I just…" His eyes narrowed and he stared at Tom. "Perhaps I've spoken too soon." Slughorn smiled briefly. "I merely find it curious that you spend so much time with any other professor outside of class since I have to coax you to spend time with me. There must be something Dumbledore holds for you, besides a wealth of knowledge." Slughorn leaned forward, planting his forearms on the desk. "Of course, it could be that he is compelling you because of something you have that he wants."

_Possibly_, Tom thought. _I'm having that affect on everyone lately_. "Again, I don't know what—"

"Secrets," Slughorn supplied. "I often long to know what's going on in that mind of yours, but Dumbledore has the luxury of finding out. I confess, if I were as gifted a Legilimens as he, I would probably delve into the most fascinating of minds at my leisure. He does have your permission, of course?"

"Of course," Tom said, his voice soft. That explains why Dumbledore was constantly at his disposal, in spite of the teasing he claimed was not befitting his position in the school. He was reading Tom like an open book. As he considered the many colorful and depraved things his particular volume contained, Tom closed his eyes and took a deep breath. That was another skill he had to learn, then. How to keep Dumbledore out of his thoughts, as well as Minerva and Slughorn far away from his pants. If things were this bad now, how was he to last until graduation?

When he opened his eyes, Slughorn had moved to the front of his desk with alarming speed and was leaning against it, his hand inches from Tom's shoulder. The student shot up from his chair, clumsily dragging his book bag across the floor. "It was lovely chatting with you again, really, but I have to go back to the library." Tom smiled as he backed towards the door. _Please let Minerva be gone or Madam Pince be there to protect me_, he thought. He wasn't sure he could protect his various parts and read up on defensive spells at the same time.

* * *

Tom closed the library book and sighed. Dumbledore had probably been pulling thoughts of his mind since the day they'd met. _No wonder he was always staring at me with that little smirk on his face. Especially if picked up that I've been thinking about his_— Tom jumped at a sound from behind the nearest bookshelf.

"Who's there?" He picked up his wand and stood from the chair. It was late, but he couldn't be sure Minerva hadn't returned after getting her strength back. She could be more determined than ever. She could be angry. She could have brought restraints.

Dumbledore poked his head around the bookshelf before moving forward. He glanced at the books scattered on the table in front of Tom, a small smile on his face. "Nice educational materials," he said as he read the titles. "Though I think it is a bit late in the game for you to learn Occlumency."

"Oh?" Tom said. He backed away a step.

"Oh, don't worry. I have no intention of going after you the way Miss McGonagall did. Though, you really should be worried about her becoming more determined where you are concerned," Albus said. "She can be quite enthusiastic once she gets an idea." He stepped forward again and crossed his arms. "I don't have to tell you that your thoughts about me are…inappropriate at times." Dumbledore smiled again. Just like that, Tom felt the power in their relationship shift in other direction. "But I'm not going to do anything about it. I'm going to treat you as I would Horace, for you are very much alike in one respect."

Albus walked forward again until he was standing just before Tom. He leaned down until he could whisper in the boy's ear. "He has a tendency to think about something he wants nearly constantly until he can have it. It fills his dreams, his waking thoughts, compels him to surround himself with his desire until he is satisfied. You have shown the same tendency to become obsessed with something—however inappropriate for you."

"The Chamber," Tom whispered, though he didn't need to. Dumbledore's nod confirmed that.

"Whatever your current thoughts and how much you may dismiss them now, one day you will act on them. You may even get what you want, if I'm feeling generous," Dumbledore said. "But I'm not going to push you, especially at your age. I'm just going to wait, patiently, to see how long you can deny yourself before you finally give in to your whims." He stood and backed up a step, his familiar smile teasing the student. "Just be sure you know what you're getting into. Don't toy with me. You might have power over other people, but you'll never wield it over me." With that, Dumbledore turned and walked out of the library.

_That was a personal challenge_, Tom thought. What remained to be seen, was how well he would stand up to it.


	5. Tease

_February 1941_

That little confrontation had been a mistake. Albus knew that now, long after it was too late. He knew he shouldn't have had that drink before he spoke to Tom, but after sitting through that idiotic staff meeting, he'd needed something to help maintain his sanity. Regardless, he'd always known it would be just a matter of time before he slipped up and said something untoward to his favorite student. He just hadn't expected to admit that he knew how Tom felt about him—and how much he liked it. Of course, since Horace had taken it upon himself to blurt out his secret to the boy, his irritation with the other man had clouded his judgment. Which, in turn, had led to him practically issuing an invitation to his bed to the impressionable thirteen-year-old. That had scared the boy to the point of never wanting to be alone with him again.

Which was probably best. After all, how far could he really take it with a child his age? Much as Albus hated to admit it, he _was_ getting older. Not that he was getting too old to do what needed to be done, as the group he'd met over Christmas break could attest, but he doubted he could keep up with someone almost a third—well, quite a few years younger than him.

As he sat in the Great Hall staring at his plate, he wondered if telling Tom that would make the boy feel comfortable resuming their friendship. As it was, Dumbledore was bored without the nearly daily visits. They'd become a kind of reprieve from the idiots who filled the castle on a regular basis. Even if nothing else ever came of it, Albus enjoyed having an intelligent conversation with someone he could understand—even if that understanding came through a bit of creative magic use on his part.

Slughorn smiled at him down the High Table and Dumbledore frowned, resisting the urge to turn the fat bastard into a toad. Or maybe he could hex with him a case of dragon chlamydia. Or better yet, he could transfigure him into a house-elf so Professor Beery would show him the fun one could have with Devil's Snare, Aguamenti, and a little fiendfyre. The resulting scars would not only be endlessly entertaining—especially if old Sluggy couldn't reverse the transfiguration before the "free the grateful servant" game was completed—they would teach him a well-earned lesson about interference. And how flammable house-elf rags are. Of course, Headmaster Dippet would frown on the childish behavior, but Albus was beyond caring. He was going to get his revenge. It was just a matter of finding the right opportunity.

On the subject of opportunities, he would have to find another opening with Tom. However much he'd frightened the boy by being honest with him, Albus was determined to renew their friendship. If Tom's blushing smile from his seat at the Slytherin table was any indication, the boy was definitely up to accepting any challenge his professor offered. Or could be after some persuasion. Albus looked forward to persuading him for a _very_ long time.

Tom turned away from the High Table, hoping no one sitting near him would notice the blush he'd been unable to hold back. They wouldn't have blamed him if they knew why. Dumbledore was staring as if he knew exactly what was going on behind the dark eyes (and robes) of the student beneath his gaze. Thankfully, he no longer had that option, thanks to a great deal of studying and concentration on Tom's part. That hadn't stopped the boy from letting his thoughts get away from him, resulting in embarrassment over something that hadn't happened yet. Well, something had happened. A confrontation that he hadn't been able to put out of his mind.

Dumbledore had issued a challenge he would not win. At least, not any time soon. Tom thought fondly back to the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore before Christmas. The idea of a professor admitting he knew of a student's crush and that he not only didn't care, but had the audacity to taunt him with it—Tom had been overwhelmed with the possibilities of what that could mean. Other than the obvious—getting what he wanted, if Dumbledore was "feeling generous." He wasn't sure if he wanted to benefit from that generosity. After all, a man of Dumbledore's age could get hurt. Or…hurt him. An idea which both frightened and intrigued the third year student.

Not that he would ever admit to either. That was why he'd taken great pains to learn Occlumency as soon as possible. If Dumbledore couldn't tell what he was thinking, Tom knew he would be less vulnerable to the other man's teasing. At least, that was what he had hoped. In truth, he just faced those twinkling eyes and smirks across the crowded classroom and in the Great Hall daily, embarrassing him to the point where he refused to be alone with his Transfiguration professor. A fact which excited the insanely jealous Horace Slughorn.

A soft hand slid against Tom's thigh and squeezed. "If I didn't know better," Abraxas whispered, "I'd say you like that pudding more than usual tonight."

Tom's blush deepened and he batted the other boy's hand away. "Not tonight, Malfoy. I'm just…"

"I can tell how you are," he whispered. His hand moved up further and Tom gasped. "I know you said you aren't really interested in me that way, but if you ever change your mind—"

Tom nodded and pushed his hand away again. "I'll think of you."

"As I will you tonight," the blonde whispered. "Feel free to come across the room to watch. Or help." He went back to the vanilla ice cream in front of him and began scooping it out of his bowl, licking the spoon slowly as he eyed Tom out of the corner of his eye.

That was another revelation Tom had been surprised with just before Christmas. One of his roommate's had a thing for him. More than one, if he believed Abraxas. None of them were as aggressive as Minerva and Slughorn, thankfully. Unfortunately, none were as appealing as the person he shouldn't be thinking about at all. Abraxas was giving it his best effort, though. Tom tore his eyes away from the site of his roommate licking a dollop of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth and looked towards the High Table again.

Dumbledore was staring down at his plate, pushing a chocolate eclair around with his fork. Further down, Professor Slughorn was watching Tom, performing the same allegedly erotic dance with his ice cream and spoon. Choking back bile, Tom stood from his seat abruptly and brushed his hands over the front of his robes to smooth the fabric. As he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Slughorn rise from his chair, his ice cream forgotten on the table.

_Crap_.

Tom waved at several of his housemates hastily and began walking quickly down the table, looking over his shoulder every few steps as he approached the door. He might've known that Slughorn would notice him getting excited even from that distance, but he didn't think standing that way would come across as an open invitation for Slughorn to follow him.

Not that he needed an invitation. The Potions professor been getting increasingly more friendly the longer Tom avoided being alone with Dumbledore, going so far as to invite Tom and his friends to late-night snack sessions in his office every night. Tom had remained noncommittal on all of these evening get-togethers, but after being cornered after class, had given an indication that he "might be available soon." Which was all Slughorn needed. And reason enough for Tom to speed up as he left the Great Hall, hoping to disappear into the crowd of students headed towards their various common rooms.

He walked briskly, looking around frantically after every few steps. Tom was close to the door which lead down to the Slytherin common room when something made him stop in his tracks. Spotting Slughorn out of the corner of his eye, Tom thought quickly how he could escape another invitation. He grabbed the first girl he saw and planted his lips over hers. It felt disgusting, but gradually he forced himself to relax. Tom had to picture someone else and after a few moments, he found himself almost enjoying the contact. Slowly, realization dawned as to who he was pretending to kiss. He broke it off immediately and found himself looking into the stunned—and enamored—eyes of Minerva McGonagall.

_Well, fuck_.

No, that felt inadequate. Especially when she smiled, grabbed him and pinned him to the wall as she kissed him again.

_Ew. She's using her tongue. Don't panic. What to do?_ Tom stomped on her toes and Minerva gasped, pulling back.

"What?" Minerva stared at him, her eyes darting back and forth in confusion.

"I have to go," he whispered. Without another look at her or Slughorn, he took off down the hall and into the nearest boys' bathroom. For some reason, he suspected this would be the first thing Scourgify couldn't clean off. He leaned over the sink and poked his tongue out at the mirror. He was going to taste like girl for days. There had to be something he could take for this. A poison?

At least he'd succeeded at one thing—getting Slughorn off his back. _Unless the professor is into girls again or wants to try a group party invitation or... ew_. Tom frowned. He wondered if it would be advisable to try to Obliviate one's own memories. He slipped his hand into his pocket and felt his wand. Not that he'd let a small chance of success stop him. Better missing memories than nightmares.

* * *

An hour after his hasty escape from the Great Hall, Dumbledore was surprised when Tom walked into his office. He slammed the door closed behind himself and his eyes searched the office. Albus waited until he had caught his breath before he put down his newspaper and cup of hot chocolate and beckoned the student across his office.

"Need something?"

"How are you with Memory Charms?" Tom asked. He looked towards the closed door again before stepping forward. "Or Repelling Charms," the boy whispered as he sank into one of the guest chairs.

Dumbledore smiled. "Horace catch up with you, then?"

Tom scowled. "No. My robes are still on and in one piece, much to his regret. I'm lucky he can't run very fast." He continued over Dumbledore's quiet laughter. "You didn't spike his drink with a love potion at lunch today, did you?"

The Transfiguration professor shook his head. "If I wanted to have you running into my office for sanctuary, I would've found a much more subtle way to accomplish it." His laughter quieted and he leaned back in his chair, studying Tom. Albus wasn't sure if it was the breathless way the student had run to him or the brief flash of thought he'd caught as the boy closed the door, but he was suddenly glad Tom couldn't see behind the desk. This interaction of theirs was quickly slipping into dangerous territory. Or would if Tom kept staring at him that way.

"After the last time we spoke, I don't believe subtle is your style," Tom said.

Dumbledore smirked. "Your thoughts were not exactly vague." He crossed his arms and leaned back. "So, what will we do about them?"

"Provide protection for me?" Tom suggested.

"Are you still on that?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, if you had people trying to get under your robes left and right—"

"What makes you think I haven't?"

Tom blushed. "I am not used to this sort of…bold attention. If you promise to help me with Slughorn and McGonagall…" He paused as he considered what he was asking.

"Oh, but not Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked. "I suppose his nightly tributes to you are welcome."

"I cannot control what he does in the privacy of his own bed," Tom responded.

"Ah, but you did not have to promise him you will watch one day. That only inspired a host of thoughts that would have Professor Slughorn salivating if he were flexible enough to act out half of them."

"I don't want to know." Tom made a gagging motion with a finger in front of his open mouth; Dumbledore shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Do not worry," he said after a moment. "I will do what I can to keep Horace and Miss McGonagall occupied. Your virtue is safe. For now."

Tom visibly relaxed. "I suppose that will last until you…what did you say? Until you are feeling generous."

"Perhaps I spoke out of turn that day. I do not wish you to feel…unsafe when you are with me." A small smile touched his lips. "However much I enjoyed teasing you, please know that nothing will happen when you are with me."

"Nothing?" Tom didn't bother attempting to hide the disappointment in his voice.

"Nothing while you are underage," Dumbledore amended. "And perhaps not after that."

"Afraid you won't be able to keep up with me?"

Dumbledore shook his head. The child was playing a game with consequences he could scarcely imagine. He conjured a cup and poured Tom a cup of hot chocolate from the kettle on his desk. He handed Tom the cup and watched as he brought it to his lips.

"I would hate for all the effort you put into learning Occlumency to go to waste," Dumbledore said. "Preventing me from getting inside you one way only to invite me inside you another way." The professor smirked as the student began to choke on his drink. Tom lowered the cup, coughing and sputtering as he looked across the desk. "I fear you would not be able to handle it. I'd hate to overwhelm you." He gestured to the coughing student, smiling fully as Tom took out his wand to siphon the hot chocolate from the front of his robes. "Then, of course, there is my dislike of Azkaban."

"For being with a student."

"An underage student," Dumbledore corrected. "There is no rule that says we cannot do as we wish. I would merely prefer you reach the age of consent."

"Oh," Tom stated. "Then I should not worry about Professor Slughorn?"

At that, Dumbledore laughed loudly. "Oh, you should most definitely worry about Horace. He and I do not have the same level of restraint. I told you before, he can become quite fixated when it comes to something he wants." His expression turned thoughtful. "I do believe he also may see it as something of a personal triumph to possess you before I can, and he knows I will wait until you are older if I am to do anything at all."

"Then, what should I do?"

"Nothing," Dumbledore responded. "I will handle Horace." Dumbledore smirked. "Though after your surprise performance, you may have to deal with Minerva on your own."

Tom buried his face in his hands and sighed. "Maybe I'll need that poison after all."

"Perhaps I should teach you a few tricks to deal with your admirers," Dumbledore said. "After all, who better than me to teach you how to protect yourself?"

"Yes," Tom responded. "Who better than you to teach me how to save myself...for you?" he whispered, one eyebrow raised.

Dumbledore smiled. He had not made a mistake after all. Now he just had to have the patience to wait until the time was right. And he had to thwart his competition. His smile widened. Horace would never see it coming.


End file.
